


Take A Breath

by RandomReader13



Series: Dark Angels and Demon Brats [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cursing bc Jason, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's the League, Prequel, implied/referenced corporal punishment, to DA&DB, y'all know what that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19107487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomReader13/pseuds/RandomReader13
Summary: Slade Wilson brings memories with him that Jason would rather forget, Damian is a supportive brother, and Talia is Exasperated.





	Take A Breath

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? Another prequel instead of chapter???? *le gasp*  
> Hope you enjoy! Comments are what keep me going!

A bead of sweat trickled down Jason’s nose. He made no move to wipe it away, both hands wrapped firmly around his blade. The hilt was worn leather, molded perfectly to his grip after days of use.

“Getting tired already?” his opponent asked, a smug smirk dancing on his lips.

Jason snarled but held his distance. He had learned the hard way that charging the much larger man was just begging for a beating. Slade tilted his head in what might have been approval. Jason didn’t get to marvel at the rare sentiment because the man was already on him, sword barely missing his head as he ducked. Jason used his lower position to drive his blade up under Slade’s ribs. Before he could make contact, the pommel of Slade’s sword slammed into the back of his head. Jason staggered, falling onto one knee, and his opponent took full advantage, kneeing him in the stomach and kick him onto his back.

Slade loomed over Jason as he struggled to breathe. “Is that the best you’ve got?” His voice was dangerously soft, the sword tip pressed to Jason’s throat sharp enough to draw blood when he swallowed. Slade didn’t do dulled swords.

Jason scowled and kicked up hard, pulling his hips back and trying to break Slade’s leg or at least throw him off balance. The man barely seemed to register the blow, merely stepping back onto Jason's ankle. Jason gasped as his bones creaked. Much more pressure and his ankle would break, and Jason didn’t heal as fast as Slade. “Surrender,” Slade said, infuriatingly calm.

Jason bared his teeth but took a moment to consider. The first time he fought Slade, he had refused to give in, even as he was knocked down again and again. The man’s presence was a beacon for the Pit, memories from _before_ frothing to the surface. Eventually, Slade had just knocked him out. It had happened again. And again…. He wouldn’t win, couldn’t, at least not yet. But Jason could tell if he gave up when he had any other option, Slade would not be happy. So Jason considered his injuries and openings. A long gash across his thigh, bruised fingers from where Slade had smashed them against his cross-guard, possibly cracked ribs, and, of course, the giant knot on the back of his head. There was also the sword at his throat. Slade had access to several of his medical files -- thanks, Talia -- so he knew how far Jason’s healing extended. The possibility of Slade deciding a lightly-slit throat wasn’t a problem was too high. That and Jason’s ankle was in real danger of being crushed, a fact he was reminded of when Slade shifted his weight.

Jason forced himself to tap out. Slade stepped off him, pulling his sword away, and Jason sat up, one hand going to his throat to check the bleeding. Not too bad. He clambered to his feet and laced his fingers together, stretching his arms above his head to hide the way they shook with a mix of anger and fear. The flat of a sword smacked the back of his skull.

“Ow!” Jason lept away, eyeing Slade and carefully touching his head. No blood, at least. “What the fuck?”

Any of his other teachers would have punished him for such disrespect, but Slade just sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “If you were fighting anyone else, they wouldn’t have waited five minutes for you to make up your mind. You would have been dead. A smack on the head is the least you deserve.”

Jason scowled harder. “Are we done?”

Slade tilted his head to the side and for a second Jason worried he had gone too far, that the man would make him run laps or do pushups until he dropped -- wouldn’t be the first time -- but Slade shrugged and said, “Sure kid. Same time tomorrow.”

Jason limped out of the training room, poking at a slice on his bicep. It had already begun to clot a bit. He sped up. If he didn’t get to medical fast enough, the cut might have to be re-opened and cleaned. It would probably be fine, the cut was big enough that it would take a few hours to heal completely. At least, he hoped so. Talia said his healing would slow down, which he was not thrilled about.

A small figure exited one of the training rooms that lined the hall. Jason smiled for the first time that day. “Damian! Hey, Damian!”

The five-year-old turned and his ridiculously serious face broke into a grin. “Jason!” He hurried over and his smile turned into pursed lips at the sight of Jason’s injuries. “aldars lm yasir ealaa ma yaram? <The lesson did not go well?>” he asked, each word enunciated carefully.

Jason peeked at Damian’s hands as he answered. “laqad aistamarat lifatrat 'atwal hadhih almara  <I lasted longer this time.>” As he expected, Damian’s hands were reddened and one actually looked like it had a welt forming on it. He felt the anger that constantly surged under the surface rise and his lips curled. “madha hdth, Dami? <What happened, Dami?>” He gently took the boy’s wrist, turning it over to look at the palm. Another angry welt.

Damian pulled his hand away, and Jason let him go without a fight. “'iinah la shy'. 'ana bbsatt yjb 'an tafeal 'afdal. kalami ghyr kaml. 'ana 'uhin laqabayin wayajib 'an 'ueaqib  <It is nothing. I simply must do better. My speech is imperfect. I am disgracing my title and must be punished,>” he babbled, still carefully pronouncing each word.

Not for the first time, Jason cursed Ra’s. Damian had a slight lisp, which the doctor said was perfectly normal and which he would grow out of. That wasn’t good enough for Ra’s. He forced Damian into speech classes and expected the lisp to be gone in a month. A fucking _month_. And the teachers -- who knew they would likely pay with their lives or their tongues if they failed -- used extreme measures. Then again, that was always the case, with the League, wasn’t it? “daena natawajah 'iilaa almustawsaf, nem? <Let’s head to the infirmary, yeah?>” Jason dropped his hand on Damian’s tiny shoulder and they headed for the medical wing together.

The League doctors were fast, efficient, and not afraid of getting rough. Jason gritted his teeth against the burning disinfectant and looked over to where Damiana was getting ointment slathered on his hands. It was nearing time for lunch, Talia would be expecting them. Jason was glad Ra’s only occasionally joined them for dinner. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself -- or the Pit -- if he saw the man. That would be a very good way to get dead. Again.

Slade was supposed to be helping with the madness, but so far it just looked like he was having his fun beating Jason up. The whispering in the back of his skull wasn’t any quieter, his mood swings were still all over the place, and sometimes he would have blank spots in his memory. The missing time scared him the most. On the streets, he had to be constantly alert, always aware of everything going on around him, and that continued when he became Robin.

The doctor stepped back and bowed. Jason waved a hand and jumped off the table. Damian was waiting for him by the door. “al'umu tantaziruna  <Mother is waiting for us,>” he said.

Talia’s quarters were bright and airy, and Jason no longer blinked at the pervasive heat. What did give him pause was the man standing in front of the large, open windows. He froze, Damian taking another two steps before realizing, and Slade shot him an amused look. Jason’s hands tightened into fists.

“You would do well to show your teacher the respect he deserves,” Talia said sharply. Jason glanced at her, clocking the disapproving frown, before locking his gaze back on Slade. The man chuckled and Jason bristled further.

“No worries, Talia. He doesn’t have to like me.” He walked to the door, pausing beside Jason. “He just has to obey me.” Jason’s jaw creaked and he knew his hands were shaking, but he couldn’t stop. There was no way Slade missed it. “Seeya tomorrow, kid.” Then he was gone and Jason could breathe again. He ran a trembling hand through his hair as he moved to sit in his usual seat. Talia was still glaring at him.

“What?” he demanded. He dropped his eyes to the table. “Sorry.” Slade might not care about occasional disrespect, but Talia most certainly did.

Her lips pursed but all she said was, “Master Wilson deserves your respect.” Jason snorted. No way in hell was he calling the man that. He’d die again, first. Talia’s eyes narrowed. “You have not behaved this way with any of your other instructors.”

Jason looked away. He hadn’t _known_ any of his other teachers...before. The memories were hazy, shrouded in a green mist, but he remembered the glint of a sword, the flash of a cape, gut-wrenching _fear_ as the dark figure that once said ‘home’ but now was only ‘rage’ went down under the arching blade.

Talia sighed and waved a hand. A servant stepped forward and served the food. “How are your studies going,  Abn?” she asked Damian. Jason took a big bite of kofta and listened as Damian chattered on about his fencing lessons and the story he had read all on his own. His muscles gradually loosened, the hissing of the Pit receding as he sat in the sun with his family and breathed.

**Author's Note:**

> I may have come out of brainstorming this lowkey shipping Talia and Slade whOOPS


End file.
